


My Master's Son

by Fyre



Series: His Master's Son [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, An Inward Treasure, M/M, Male Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-02
Updated: 2012-08-02
Packaged: 2017-11-11 07:19:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/476010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy Goldacre wishes to show Rab Graham just how important he is.</p><p>Another missing scene for the boys from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/409866/chapters/679810">An Inward Treasure</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	My Master's Son

"We shouldnae..."

Bellamy clasped a hand over Rab Graham's mouth, stifling him. "Hush," he whispered. "It may be night, but some servants may still be abroad."

They were in the corridor that led in from the grounds, used most commonly by the housemaids to navigate the lower levels of the house unseen. Bellamy had considered a candle, but it seemed too great a risk. There was enough light from the windows, and more than enough shadow to conceal themselves in.

Rab gazed at Bellamy reproachfully over his hand, then tilted his head and bit firmly on the soft heel. Bellamy hissed through his teeth and replaced his hand with his lips, kissing his lover hard enough to steal his breath away.

"Hush," he whispered again, then caught Rab's hand with his, leading him deeper into the house.

It was the height of risk. 

To misbehave in Rab's cottage, in the grounds, away from prying eyes was one thing, but this was important. Rab had to see that he was not simply seen as a pet, a plaything to be kept in the woods. Bellamy wanted to have the man take him in his own bed, in his own world, and show him that he was accepted there, as he was accepted in the cottage.

They kept to the shadows, and Bellamy felt his heart racing. It felt so rebellious to do such a thing under his father's own roof, but he knew his father would understand the need and the longing for such a thing.

It was only when they reached the staircase that they encountered a problem.

One of the houseboys was scrubbing the stairs. It was a night task, to ensure the stairs would be both clean and safe for the Duke and the ladies in the morning. Bellamy’s heart sank. He knew there would be some catch or other.

He pressed a hand to Rab’s chest, bidding him stay where he was. “Andrew!” he called sharply, stepping out of the shadows and approaching. “Have you not finished yet?”

The boy blushed to the roots of his hair. Whether it was on account of Bellamy knowing his name or the fact his task was taking him longer than expected, Bellamy neither knew nor cared. The trouble was that they were at an impasse: he and Rab could not go up the stairs to his chamber, and nor could the boy return to the kitchens by the staff corridors.

“I-I-I thought you were in bed, Milord,” the boy stammered. “That it wouldnae matter that the floors were wet.”

Bellamy knew he had a gift for thinking on his feet. It was the very skill that made him proficient in law. He could twist words to his very need, and make them dance a merry jig as and when it suited him.

And yet, now, when he needed them most, they deserted him.

Footfalls on the landing made him look up, startled. 

“Father?”

James Goldacre, Duke of Rutherglen, stood at the top of the stairs. “Ah, someone is about,” he said, without even a glance in Bellamy’s direction. “Andrew, lad, run to the parlour in the south wing. My lady has a desire for a glass of the sherry we keep there. Bring the decanter to my chamber at once.”

Andrew nodded, mumbling, “Aye, your Grace. Right away.” He abandoned his scrubbing brush and bucket, fleeing away down the hall.

Bellamy looked sheepishly up at his father. “Good evening, father,” he said.

“I’m sure it shall be,” his father said gruffly. “Next time, have a care. It was only chance that had me by the window, letting some air in for your mother.” He jerked his head towards the stairs. “Get your arses to your room before the poor little devil comes back.” He turned and strode back in the direction from whence he had come.

Bellamy blinked after him, then turned and urgently gestured to Rab, who darted forward.

“Your father disnae seem fashed about us,” Rab observed as they raced up the stairs as quietly as they could.

“I don’t think there’s anything that could surprise him,” Bellamy admitted, drawing Rab back into the shadow of a column, when he saw movement ahead. One of the housemaids was on her way up to the servants chambers in the upper levels of the house. Rab’s arm snaked around his middle, pulling Bellamy back against his chest, and Bellamy bit down his lower lip as Rab’s hand slid lower. 

By God, if they didn’t reach the bedroom soon, the servants could damn their eyes.

He closed his hand over Rab’s, holding it still. That served as little enough discouragement as Rab’s other hand pulled his collar wider and hot lips pressed to his throat, kissing, then biting softly, almost playfully.

“Not yet,” Bellamy breathed.

“You brought me in, Master Bay,” Rab murmured. “You let me into your world. The place you belong. None has ever done that for me before.”

Bellamy twisted about in Rab’s arms, claimed his lips hard. “You are where I belong,” he said with such passion he was amazed he did not rouse the whole house.

Rab’s hand framed his face and he drew back from the kiss. His eyes were dark, his expression startled and wondering. “Bay…”

Bellamy felt himself flush, but pressed another brief kiss to Rab’s lips. It had gone unsaid for so long already, and now, it felt right to articulate it. “Come,” he said in a breathless whisper. “I would have you in my bed, my love.”

Rab caught one of his hands, twining their fingers together. “Lead me,” he murmured, his voice thick with hunger. His grip was verging on the painful, but Bellamy knew that only spoke of his desire to show in action what he could not place into words.

The halls seemed infinite in the darkness, and Rab’s breathing was loud, rough, and all that Bellamy could hear. His own was probably just as loud, and louder still as they neared the door of his bedchamber. It was ajar, as was his wont, and he pushed it wide.

Rab looked into the room, lit by pale moonlight. “You’re sure?”

The question was not about the chamber.

Bellamy looked at him and without hesitation, he smiled. “I am.”

Rab’s rugged face broke into a grin, and he stepped at once into Bellamy’s bedchamber, already reaching for the ties of his shirt. He looked back over his shoulder. “So, are you going to stand there like a pudding, or are you coming in?”

Bellamy was through the door in an instant and closed it firmly behind him. He reached back to twist the key in the lock, but could not, would not take his eyes off the man standing before him. “Happy?”

“No yet,” Rab replied, pulling his shirt off over his head. “But I think I will be.”

Bellamy crossed the floor in three paces and sank a hand into Rab’s hair, the other grasping at his waist and pulling him flush against him. Rab’s fingers had a mind of their own, pulling Bellamy’s shirt from his britches on one hand, while shoving the coat from his shoulders with the other.

It took no time at all for them to be disrobed entirely, their clothing lying in tangled heaps on the floor around their feet. 

“The bed,” Rab reminded him between heated kisses, his hands closing and squeezing Bellamy’s arse until he could near feel it bruising. “That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it, you randy little bugger?”

Bellamy pulled back, drawing breath. “Aye, you bastard,” he panted out. He slid his hands to Rab’s shoulders, pushing him back a step. Rab grinned and stepped forward, pushing against him. “Don’t challenge me, Rab.”

“Why?” Rab’s teeth gleamed pale in the moonlight. “What will you do?”

With a boldness that had not come upon him in Rab’s cabin, he moved his hand. His eyes held Rab’s and he grabbed that which he desired, his tongue pressing against his front teeth, and he squeezed.

Rab uttered a strangled, hungry sound, his hips twitching. “Ah…”

Bellamy arched his neck, bared his teeth. “Will that do it, Rab?” he breathed, running his thumb over the dewy head. “Will that make you heed me?”

“I could have you on the floor in a heartbeat,” Rab cautioned through flushed and swollen lips.

“You could,” Bellamy agreed in a breath, “but you don’t want that.” He smiled tentatively, almost shy, despite their current state. “You’d have me as I’d have you. Wouldn’t you?”

One of Rab’s hands rose, cupping his face as gentle as the breeze. “Aye, Bay,” he said, his voice low and warm and soft. The glint returned to his dark eyes. “You might be a randy little bastard, but you’re my randy little bastard.”

Bellamy felt his face would quite crack with delight. He claimed another heated kiss. “Then come to my bed,” he said, moving his hand slow upon Rab, the other spreading again on Rab’s shoulder and stroking down over his chest . “Have me there.”

He need not have asked, and he bare needed to move his hand, for Rab drew back and back, towards the bed, with it’s pale, smooth sheets, so unlike the groundsman’s hut, where they had thus far fornicated.

Rab sank to sit on the edge of the bed, drawing away from Bellamy’s touch, but his hands caught Bellamy’s hips, drew him closer. “Would you have me gentle, Bay?” he asked. “If that’s to your liking, in this place, I would have it so.”

Bellamy stared at him, his hand brushing through Rab’s tangled dark curls. 

His dalliances with Rab had always been playful, rough, bruising and delicious. Everything in their encounters was exactly as it had always been between them, and now, he was offering a gentle lover in place of that which Bellamy had fallen in love with. Aye. Love. He could think it, even if could not be spoken aloud.

He could have gentleness.

But if he did, then Rab would be playing a part, and he did not want that.

Instead of speaking, he threw himself onto the other man, tackling him with a snarl. Rab cursed in surprise, and all at once, they were wrestling across the finely-made bed. 

Bellamy bared his teeth, growling like a half-mad thing, as Rab fought against him, capturing his limbs and finally pinning him facedown on the bed, his hips pinning Bellamy’s own, his chest to Bellamy’s back, his breath hot in Bellamy’s ear. Rab’s thigh pinned both of Bellamy’s to the bed, and one of his broad hands held Bellamy’s wrists captive over his head, firm but not ungentle. 

The other hand, though, stroked Bellamy’s hip as though calming a startled steed.

“So,” Rab whisper, pressing his hips forward and rubbing himself intimately against Bellamy’s backside. “That’s to be the way of it, is it?” He sounded pleased, wickedly so, and he lapped, then worried Bellamy’s earlobe with his teeth, drawing a groan from the younger man. “You wouldnae have a gentlemen, eh?”

“I’d have you, Rab,” Bellamy moaned. “Only you.”

Rab nudged him forward. “Open your hands.”

“M-my hands?”

Rab nuzzled at his throat. “Aye. Open them.”

Bellamy complied, and Rab’s own hand guided them to hold onto the very bedpost. 

“Hold fast,” he murmured, his hand sliding back down to rest on Bellamy’s shoulders, his other hand moving over Bellamy’s hip to wrap around his cock. His hand was damnably hot and Bellamy squirmed demandingly against it. “Hold, Bay,” Rab whispered and Bellamy trembled. “To your knees, lad.”

Bellamy shifted as much as he could, without relinquishing his hold on the bedpost, Rab’s hand stroking in encouragement as he knelt, facing to the post. The hand on his shoulder slid down between the blades and he was pushed forward, until his head al but rested on his outstretched arms. 

“Close your eyes,” Rab breathed, leaning over him. “Trust me.”

“Always,” Bellamy whispered, pressing his eyes shut.

He felt the hot press of Rab’s lips at his nape, between his shoulders, and he felt the small, desperate whine rise in his throat as those same lips explored every inch of his back, over the faint scar from his one lamentable duel, down every joint of his spine, over his ribs. Rab’s hand still moved, gently, not enough to complete, but enough to make him shiver all over, want and need building in ever increasing little waves.

Bellamy did cry out sharply in both pleasure and shock when Rab darted his tongue along the crease of Bellamy’s arse. It should not have made his hips jolt, not blood throb through him, nor his breath catch, but it did.

Rab chuckled and that was more hindrance than help.

“Rab…” Bellamy gasped out. “The devil are you doing?”

Rab did not answer, only moving his free hand to knead Bellamy’s buttocks as his tongue moved again, them his lips. Bellamy yelped breathlessly as Rab left little love bites all over his arse, and he knew he would be sitting awkwardly all of the next day.

“You…” he panted out, “you absolute bastard…” 

Rab nuzzled across his tailbone. “Aye,” he whispered, and earn another low and desperate whine from Bellamy as he pressed one finger then another in and deep, so deep. Bellamy pushed and pulled, torn between one hand and the other, and all the while, he could feel the rasp of Rab’s beard, the warm wetness of his lips, and by God… by God…

His body twitched and spasmed, and he bit down on his forearm to keep from crying out.

He did not mean to, nor think it possible, but his thighs were damped, as were the sheets, and Rab’s hands were still. 

“Rab-” he croaked, hoarse. “I did not intend…”

Rab chuckled, giving him a playful tug with a sticky-palmed hand. “Aye, lad, but you are a young wee thing,” he said with wicked glee. “You havenae learned stamina yet.”

Bellamy began to lift his head in protest, but Rab’s other hand slipped free and pressed him back down. 

“I didnae tell you to rise, did I?” he murmured in a low voice that might have been dangerous on any other. To Bellamy, it made his so-recently spent body give a little quiver of hunger and anticipation. “You would have me have you in your bed, lad. I have not done so yet, not to my pleasure.”

“Rab, I’m…”

“What you are is naught,” Rab said low, rising to his knees. Bellamy’s eyes were still closed, but he could imagine the moon-cast shadow spreading over him, covering him as Rab so often did. “What we are… that is the matter.”

His touch receded then, and Bellamy trembled. “Rab?”

All at once, Rab covered him like a cloak, the hair of his chest brushing against Bellamy’s back. His broad hands slid along Bellamy’s sides, up over his shoulders, down his arms, to close around the trembling fingers gripping the bedpost so desperately. 

“Never doubt me, Bay,” Rab whispered, his voice so close and warm in Bellamy’s ear. “I am yours and none others. If the world turned and burned, I would still be yours.” He bit on Bellamy’s earlobe, earning a shrill, short whine, and he rolled his hips against Bellamy’s arse, pressing against the tender bruises so recently scattered there. “We’re damning one another, you and I, and I would not stop for the devil himself.”

Bellamy’s breath was in rags, and he gave a small, trembling sob. “Rab… by God, Rab…”

“Hush, Bay,” Rab whispered and pushed hard into him. It was not gentle, for to be so would not be like Rab, but nor was it as merciless as he oft was. His hands drew back down and he caught Bellamy’s hips, guiding him and holding him, and sinking himself deep until there was no an inch of space between them.

Bellamy choked on small, breathless sobs, his hands quivering at the post. “I love you, Rab,” he whispered into the flesh of his forearm, the words he knew he should not ever say, not now, not before God nor man, yet words he could not deny.

A warm kiss pressed to his shoulder. “I know,” Rab whispered, nuzzling against Bellamy’s hair. His hips drew back, slow, slow, unbearably slow, and he thrust back in, hard and deep and made Bellamy bite down on another cry. Only then did he breathe, “And I you.”

If Bellamy was spent, his body thrummed with blood anew. He pushed back demandingly, small sobs catching with every thrust, each harder and more bruising than the last. He could feel the marks left by Rab’s broad hands, and he tilted his head, seeking out his lover’s lips, craning his neck until it ached.

Rab’s mouth captured his, smothering him with greedy kisses, and one of Rab’s hands moved down over his hip, below and sought him once more, matching the stroke of his hand to the stroke of his hip, calling to him fresh urgency.

It was not one’s pleasure over another, Bellamy realised with ragged want, as his mouth was ravished anew. It was both, as one. As one, they were moving, heat and blood and hunger between them, and he could taste salt of tears and sweat and the copper of blood on his lips, and he gasped for breath even as Rab thrust harder and harder, rocking Bellamy’s body hard upon his knees, the bed creaking dully beneath them.

“S-say it,” he whispered against his lover’s lips, as Rab’s hand squeezed and pleasured him, even as Rab’s body pressed deep, tilting to that angle that would make Bellamy’s mind go white. “Please, Rab… please…”

Rab’s breath stuttered against his and his pace quickened. “I love you,” he panted, making Bellamy tremble from head to toe. “You little bugger. Randy bugger. I fucking love you and you stupid clothes and your arse and your cocky little mouth.”

Bellamy gave a choked gasping giggle. “Not my mouthy little cock?” he panted out, then yelped as Rab thrust into him so hard that he was pushed even closer to the bedpost, sheets rucked around their knees.

Rab kissed his bare shoulder, hot and open-mouthed. “Every bit, you stupid bugger,” he growled, then bit down so hard on the side of Bellamy’s throat that Bellamy keened and scrambled at the bedposts, his own mouth closing on his forearm again.

His hips were jerking erratically, and Rab’s hoarse laugh rasped against his throat, even as his body sagged boneless beneath Rab.

“No strength,” Rab whispered, grabbing his hips hard and hauling them up.

“No,” Bellamy gasped out, whimpering softly, happily, with every deep thrust. “None. None at all.” His breath caught. “Oh. Oh, by God…”

Rab pulled him back hard, one arm going around his waist and he was pulled firm against Rab’s chest. “Aye,” Rab breathed, his hips jerking once, twice more and Bellamy gave a soft, satisfied shiver as he felt Rab find his end.

They both crumpled together on the bed, still joined, and Bellamy grumbled in protest when Rab slipped free of him.

“Alas, Master Bay,” Rab murmured. He sounded drowsy and sated. “When the dam has burst the waters must have time to rise again.” 

Bellamy chuckled hoarsely, then prised his fingers - aching - from the post. “Lud,” he whispered. “I am all over bruises, you hairy great brute.”

“Dinnae fret,” Rab replied, tugging him closer and wrapping an arm around his middle. “In the morning, I shall have you face-to-face, with your soft bed and lovely drapes, and you can scratch at me and bite as you will.”

Bellamy squirmed in his arms, settling comfortably against him, hauling the blankets about them both. “You make me sound like a small, intemperate cat.”

Rab chuckled. “And I a great, careless wolf?”

Bellamy leaned closer and nipped at his throat. “I prefer my man.”

Rab tilted his head to look at him. “And I mine,” he said, one hand curling in Bellamy’s sweat-damp hair. “But you dinnae half talk my ear off.” He tugged Bellamy’s head to rest on his shoulder. “Get yourself to sleep, lad. You’re worn out. I willnae fuck you if you’re going to snore.”

Bellamy pinched his nipple in reproof, earning a low growl. “I do not snore,” he sniffed.

“Aye,” Rab said, yawning, “and I dinna fornicate with my Master’s son.”

“Bastard,” Bellamy grumbled, but he was smiling as he closed his eyes.


End file.
